


Salvation On The Raven Black Wings Of A Fallen Angel

by roryheadmav



Category: British Actor RPF, Tomki - Fandom, frostpudding - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Religious Themes, priest fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Tom Hiddleston is a priest who has yet to determine his true purpose in life. But when a wraith begins to torment his dreams, he finds himself facing a test which may cost him his very soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation On The Raven Black Wings Of A Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This story--also known as the "Priest Fic" is my second birthday present to myself. "Salvation" is actually a story that I've had on my mind for quite some time now. But I only found the incentive to write it after Tothetwelve posted an AU fanart which you can see here http://tothetwelve.tumblr.com/post/61522463122/temptation-i-came-across-this-post-and-now-i
> 
> Please be advised that this story has STRONG WARNINGS for NON-CON and RELIGIOUS THEMES. DO NOT READ THIS STORY IF THESE THEMES DISTURB YOU.

**SALVATION ON THE RAVEN BLACK WINGS OF A FALLEN ANGEL**

**Copyright October 5, 2013 by Rory**

 

 

**_Lockshire, Cumbria, England, 1919._ **

 

_"Working on a new piece so soon? Your carving of the Crucified Christ was magnificent, by the way. So lifelike!"_

_The old priest had been eyeing the slab of white marble before him critically when he was drawn out of his thoughts by that inquisitive query. A broad smile formed on his face when he beheld his younger colleague beaming at him as well._

_Such a handsome man, this young priest was. Sinfully beautiful with his short curly blond hair, sparkling blue gray eyes, and that smile which seemed to be perpetually plastered on his face. He was an eloquent speaker too._

_If it were not for him, the old priest doubted if he would have been able to successfully rally the people of this somewhat backwards village into helping them build the little chapel now standing on the hill and this tiny cramped cottage that was their temporary home until more spacious accommodations could be made for them. They had just actually conducted the Rite of Dedication for the chapel itself and its altar, a momentous occasion which had food a-plenty and wine overflowing. Still feeling exhilarated by their accomplishment, he had gone straight to his work shed to hopefully burn off the excess energies._

_He should have known that the younger priest would also still be bouncing with energy._

_"I've always used wood as a medium. I figured now is the time to move on to a more challenging material. I was thinking of carving a cross for the churchyard," he replied to that question. "Perhaps put in some images on the beams. The Way of the Cross perhaps? This is a cross after all."_

_"Well, then it wouldn't be much of a 'Way' if everyone will just stand in the churchyard and stare at it," the young priest remarked. "The idea behind the Way of the Cross is for people to experience in some small way Christ's sufferings which ended in his crucifixion."_

_"Yes, yes! I do agree with you. You are right again as usual, Father. So…what do you suggest?"_

_"Why not put scenes pertaining to the village's local history? Maybe show the transition from the pagan beliefs of the Vikings to Christianity. I can help you with the research if you like."_

_"That is a splendid idea! But…it is an idea best reserved for the future. This cross is going to be monumental work to be sure. Besides, after all this excitement, what we need now is to get a good night's rest; you, more so. For the past several evenings, I've been hearing you moaning and crying in your sleep. Having nightmares?"_

_"I wouldn't call them exactly 'nightmares'. They have stopped though, so I've been catching up on some shut eye."_

_"That's good," the old priest said, relieved, as he patted the younger's shoulder. "In case they act up again, I have a recipe for a potent lavender draught which my mother had given to me. I'm pretty sure it will help you. Just one cup and you'll be sleeping like a log."_

_"I don't doubt that," the young priest laughed. "But you go ahead, Father. I still need to light the candles for the saints in the chapel."_

_"Do you need any help?"_

_"No, I can manage. Thank you very much."_

_"Well, hurry on then so you can go straight to bed."_

_The priest saluted him smartly. "Aye, aye, sir!"_

_He was already jogging for the chapel when the older priest stopped him._

_"Are you happy here, Father?" he asked the younger man. "I know you wanted to go to some place…well, exotic and dangerous."_

_The exuberant priest gracefully twirled on his toes, placed his hands behind his back, and grinned at his colleague with the charm of a little boy. "I go where the Lord takes me. While I am still uncertain of what his true mission for me is, I will do whatever I can in the places where I am sent. I'm sure God would not ask for anything less from me."_

_The old priest watched him hurry off to the chapel. Yes, so young, uncertain of his purpose yet in life. But still so very brave and optimistic in the face of the difficult challenges of the priesthood._

_"My God," the priest began his prayer as he gazed up at the twinkling stars in the heavens, "please keep that bright young man under your protection. Keep him on the straight and narrow. Let him not be led astray while he searches for his true purpose. Amen."_

_Gesturing a blessing to that dark figure entering the chapel, the old priest sighed and made his way to their cottage._

 

"Lord, I thank you for a fruitful day today. The children were most receptive to thy Words as they poured forth from my lips during their catechism before we performed the Holy Rite of Dedication. Please let thy Holy Spirit descend upon me this Sunday's Holy Mass. The topic of my sermon is about your Transfiguration…" There was a mischievous twinkle in expressive blue gray eyes. "…And you know how Your poor servant still does not understand its mysteries fully in spite of the many lessons taught him in the seminary. Oh, and thank you for keeping the nightmares at bay last night. I hope you would grant me a restful sleep again tonight. Amen."

 

Father Thomas William Hiddleston bowed before the life-sized image of the Crucified Christ hanging on top of the altar and made the Sign of the Cross. Picking up his candle lighter, he went about lighting the candles on the wooden wheel chandelier above his head before going around the little chapel to light the votive candles in their tiny red frosted glass containers. Tom lingered before the image of his beloved patron St. Sebastian, his eyes going up to the arrows piercing the saint's body.

 

As a child growing up in a very spiritual family, Tom harbored the lofty ambition of becoming a martyr. Such a notion was soon abandoned when he graduated from the seminary in Rome a day after World War I was declared over. He had been hoping to, at least, be shipped off to Africa. Instead, Tom was sent to this tiny village of Lockshire situated along the Northern English coast. Rather than face German guns or Zulu spears, it was his and Parish Priest Father Eric Selvig's daunting challenge to complete the 'conversion' of the villagers whose beliefs were still steeped in a confusing mixture of Norse paganism and Christianity.

 

Tom understood that there were serious apprehensions among the villagers about Bishop Tyrsson's decision to build the chapel over a site which was a former worshipping ground for the Norse gods. He even heard gruesome stories of ritual sacrifice having been performed there. Nevertheless, they heeded his and Father Eric's exhortations to build the little chapel.

 

What did shock Tom was a very vivid example of the 'Old Ways' in actual practice. During his second week in Lockshire, while overseeing the construction of the chapel walls, the village women dragged one of their own into the churchyard, demanding that she be stoned to death for the sin of adultery. While he considered himself to be a patient, reasonable man, Tom found himself losing his temper that day, especially when he saw a rock connect with the woman's temple as she cowered at his feet.

 

Father Eric's jaw dropped when Tom picked up a cricket bat left behind by one of the children and lobbed another hurled rock far and wide. "Gossipy bitches! How dare you judge this poor woman when you have yet to atone for the sins you have confessed to me in the sanctity of the confessional?! Throw another stone and I swear I shall take back the absolution I had given you and have you all sent to Hell!"

 

Although the so-called 'adulteress' was later proven to be innocent, the townsfolk began to look upon him with wariness, fearful that Tom might make good on his word and do send them to perdition.

 

Bishop Tyrsson had even berated him for his remarks, saying, "You are not God to take back a sinner's absolution, Father Hiddleston! How dare you make such a blasphemous assertion?!"

 

Tom, being of a stubborn bent, let the bishop's rants enter one ear and slip out the other, a small sin which Father Eric later pardoned with five repetitions of the Holy Rosary.

 

Because of said incident, Tom made it his personal mission to rid the village of the 'Old Ways' and instruct their children in modern church catechism. There were still a good number who clung to their charms and amulets, but the younger ones were thankfully more receptive to the Word of God as it was being preached today.

 

There was one ancient woman, though, who resisted his attempts to convert her. Her name was Mrs. Prudence Walters, an osteoporitic crone whom anyone could easily mistake for a witch. A pagan through and through, Mrs. Walters was the most vocal against the chapel construction.

 

During the Mass of consecration for the chapel's cornerstone, the cantankerous old lady interrupted his sermon, stating with an emphatic wagging of her gnarled finger. "Don't think that the gods do not know what you have done! You have defiled the sacred ground of the Horned God! Mark my words, Priest! You are cursed! He shall make you pay for this sacrilege!" Tom tactfully dismissed her words.

 

It was after that confrontation with Lockshire's overly superstitious senior citizen that strange things began happening inside the chapel, particularly whenever Tom was around. Doors would close or candles would blow out in the absence of the wind. There would be sounds of footsteps in the chapel, but upon inspection, there was no one inside and the doors were closed. Then, there were the acts of vandalism, like scratched pews, torn curtains, and broken windows. These were attributed to mischievous teenagers who had nothing better to do with their time.

 

Ever of a rational mindset, Tom would give logical explanations to every bizarre occurrence, debunking suspicions of the supernatural at work.

 

However, it was the dreams that Tom could not offer any good rationalizations, and for this reason, he kept the knowledge of his night visions to himself.

 

Every night, a wraith would visit him in his dreams—a young man with shoulder length, raven black hair and a gossamer fabric barely shrouding his flawless, naked body. The man would come to him as he lay in bed, those deft fingers caressing his trembling body covered by his pajamas, and yet he could feel those sinuous touches directly upon his sweating skin. But what was the most disturbing about his ghostly visitor was that they looked exactly alike.

 

"Have you any idea just how beautiful you are, Father Tom?" the wraith would whisper to him, teeth nipping at his earlobe. "Don't be so selfish as to cling to this insipid vow of chastity that your God had forced you to make. Surrender your virtue to me, and I shall give you delights you have never experienced before."

 

Tom would always wake up from these dreams drenched in sweat and with a raging erection. Rather than commit a mortal sin by relieving himself of the lust that he was consumed with using his own hand, he would rush inside the bathroom and stand underneath the icy cold spray of the shower.

 

As the days passed, however, the dreams became more vivid. Even wearing his crucifix to bed did not deter them. The wraith would always appear through a cloud of green mist and press upon Tom's heated flesh, stimulating him relentlessly with hands and lips. Such was the strength of his night visitor that Tom could not move his arms to push this elegant, seductive creature off him. He would just lie there, biting down on his lower lip, fighting with all his might the sinful urges that were being elicited from him.

 

Deathly afraid that he would ultimately succumb to his nightly assailant, Tom decided to plead with it. "Whoever you are, please stop this. I do not wish to fall into sin with you, neither do I want to see you condemned for tempting a servant of the Lord."

 

The wraith, who was nibbling at the pulsating carotid, jerked up then, his green eyes flashing with anger. "Do you think yourself above me, Father Tom?"

 

"No, but…  Please. For the preservation of our souls, I beg you. No more. If I have caused you to sin, then I ask for your forgiveness. For my part, I shall pray for your salvation."

 

"Liar! Hypocrite!" the wraith hissed in his face. "I know you desire this, Priest!"

 

"Yes, I do desire it. I desire **_you_**. But I must be strong, for both of us."

 

"Then I shall see your strength and resolve crumble before my fury. To you, an oath I make. I swear that I shall make you mine, Father Tom. I will see you dishonored before your precious God while your tender flesh twists and writhes under my ministrations."

 

Tom sat up with a gasp following that dream. As was his wont, he rushed inside the bathroom and headed straight into the shower. When his lust had abated, he went toward the sink to further wash his face and his eyes, which would not stop leaking tears. To his horror, as he gazed into the bathroom mirror, the reflection he saw was not his own, but that of the wraith, a malevolent grin on his lips and his emerald eyes twinkling with the promise of utter debauchery.

 

The dreams stopped after that night. For three days, Tom slept peacefully, although there was still a small part of him that was concerned about his night visitor.

 

Crossing himself, Father Tom slowly got down on his knees before the image of St. Sebastian to offer a prayer for the troubled spirit. Tom was virtually unaware that he would have great cause to regret his lowering his guard against the wraith who had been plaguing his dreams on this very night.

 

Before his left knee could touch the tiled floor, a powerful force sent Tom flying backward on top of the pews and falling to the center aisle. The priest picked himself up, his face mirroring his confusion as his eyes took in the empty chapel. He was about to wonder what it was that had sent him sailing through the air when unseen fingers painfully seized his short curly locks at the top of his head. With a stunned gasp, he was dragged by his hair along the aisle, the strands tearing from his scalp at that relentless grip. He cried out as his back hit the steps going up the altar, jerked to a standing position, and his head slammed down on the altar top. Through blurry eyes, he could see the chalice containing the Blessed Wine and the ciborium filled with the Eucharistic Bread. Tom's first instinct was to protect the Holy Sacrament, and he pulled the sacred items into his tight embrace.

 

"You should be more concerned about what I'm going to do to you over your watered wine and bland wafers," a lascivious voice whispered in his ear.

 

Suddenly, invisible hands yanked his white cassock upward, the hem going over his head like a veil. Tom shuddered as his long legs were forced apart and his trousers ripped to shreds. Even his sandals were torn from his feet.

 

"Please! Whoever you are! Don't do this to me!" Tom begged his tormentor, his trembling voice echoing through the empty chapel. "Whatever it is that I have done to offend you, please forgive me! But I'm begging you! Not this!"

 

"Ah, Father Tom! You have no idea how greatly you have offended me. First, you build this…monstrosity…on **_my_** sacred ground. Second, you turned the hearts of the villagers away from me, stopped them from worshipping me. Then, when I would bestow my favors upon you, you…rejected…me! Yes, Priest. You have indeed offended me, and now I shall have you as a sacrifice. As expiation, I shall take everything that you can give me, including the chastity you hold so dear!"

 

A scream was torn from Tom's lips as he was brutally penetrated. His breaths came in ragged pants and shrieks as his virgin channel was stretched and shredded to accommodate the large, unseen rod that pounded inside him relentlessly. To silence him, the wraith struck him hard in the face, creating a deep, bleeding cut on the priest's lower lip. With tears streaming down his cheeks, Tom stretched his right arm to the Crucified Christ above his head in a wordless plea for help. But Christ too was helpless. Tom did not know if his anguished mind was playing tricks on him or if it was an illusion of the infernal creature that was raping him, but he thought he saw tears of blood pouring from Christ's eyes.

 

Then, something ice cold gushed inside his body and, to his disgust, he knew it was the wraith's seed. Tom thought it was all over, that this devastating humiliation would already satisfy his malevolent night visitor. But the wraith was not done with him. He was lifted up onto the altar and the Blessed Sacrament wrenched from his arms. The ciborium and the chalice fell to the floor in a grotesque slow motion, their contents spilling onto the tiles. At that horrendous desecration and the thought that he had failed his God, Tom's mind shut down completely. As his cassock was rent by sharp, invisible claws or knives and his pale flesh fully exposed to the wraith, the poor priest could only stare back in despair at the church images which had also begun to weep blood tears in grief for his defilement. Blood also trickled from a crying St. Sebastian's arrow wounds.

 

As strong hands yanked his wrists above his head, the hate-filled figure of the wraith fully materialized above him.

 

"Say my name, Father Tom. By now, I believe you know who I am," his devilish tormentor taunted him. "Say my name, and I will be gentle with you this time."

 

But Tom kept his silence, although he indeed already knew the identity of his ravisher. The ancient Norse gods were cruel, fickle beings, and the wraith straddling him was the vilest of them all.

 

Loki…the God of Mischief and Chaos.

 

**_"SAY MY NAME, PRIEST!"_ **

 

Tom turned his head away.

 

"Suit yourself then."

 

For the entire night, the poor priest suffered through every foul act that the god was capable of. Every inch of his body was thoroughly abused; orifices large enough to accommodate that terrible member were filled to overflowing with bitter seed. Tom was nothing more than a piece of meat for the Norse god to use as he pleased in whatever debasing way he wanted. All the priest could do was cry silently and pray that Father Selvig would come and find him; kind Father Eric who was always non-judgmental, who would understand and forgive the shame that he had been forced to endure. At some point, weariness at last overtook him, and he fell into unconsciousness. He never saw what the cruel god did as a finishing touch. Neither was he aware that even his final entreaty for salvation from Father Eric would be denied him.

 

It was the chapel gardener who found Tom in the morning, sprawled on the altar. His cassock was torn into bloody strips that barely covered the bruises and bite marks on his body. A pool of blood and seed had congealed beneath the raw, open wound of his ass and between his thighs. The entire chapel was splattered with blood. But it was the condemning words written in Tom's own blood on the wall behind the altar which sent the gardener running to find help— **"THE WHORE OF LOKI."**

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Tom was not prepared for the terrible furor that took place following the discovery of his rape. Although at first, Father Eric tried to disavow claims that the younger priest had been abused by a supernatural entity and that the vile deed was instead committed by evil strangers passing through Lockshire, it was Mrs. Walters, gripped in a fanatical religious mania, who persisted in declaring to all who listened to her that Tom had been cursed by the Horned Norse God Loki. She was also pressing that now that the priest had rutted with the god, the entire village would be gripped by demonic lusts which not even the Christian God could be able to purify.

 

To make matters worse, no sympathy, no mercy could be had from Bishop Tyrsson. Having not liked the handsome priest right from the start, the bishop was all too swift in putting the entire blame on Tom.

****

**_"Do you know what you have done?"_** Bishop Tyrsson spat furiously in Tom's very pale face while a doctor from a distant town treated his injuries.

 

Dr. Branagh winced at the fury in the bishop's voice and gave the crying priest's hand a subtle squeeze. "Your Excellency, please! You're distressing my patient!"

 

The bishop, however, ignored the physician. "The chapel has been desecrated. Now it has to be re-consecrated in a long ritual by no less than the Cardinal himself, and I still don't know fully what had happened here. Why don't you just tell me the truth, Tom? Give me the name of the man you played catamite with. If you confess to the truth, you shall be defrocked but with what little dignity you still possess restored to you due to your honesty and humility."

 

Father Eric stared at the bishop, appalled. "Are you mad? You have seen for yourself what had been done to him! His virtue has been brutally taken from him and, yet, you insinuate that he asked for this, that he wanted this done to him!" He pointed at the door. **_"Get out! Get out right now!"_**

 

"Have you forgotten that you are addressing your superior, Father Selvig?"

 

"It is because of the fact that I still recognize you as such is the reason why I'm asking you to leave! If you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head and persist in berating Tom for a crime, a sin in which he is the victim, I might lose what little respect I still hold for you and bash your face in with my fist!"

 

**_"YOU WOULDN'T DARE!"_ **

 

Father Eric dragged the sputtering bishop out of the room.

 

Dr. Branagh wrapped the sleeping robe over Tom's battered body and whispered gently, "I'll return tomorrow to change your dressings. Have courage, Father." He then took his bag and marched out of the room, locking the door irrevocably shut behind him. Judging from the shouts outside, it was obvious that the good doctor had also joined in the argument with the bishop.

 

Depressed and miserable, Tom could only curl up on his bed, back turned toward the door, and the pillow pressing over his head to drown out their furious shouts.

 

Standing in the corner, dressed in royal green, gold and black finery with a magnificent horned helmet on his head, laughing and jeering at the poor priest's pathetic condition, unseen to all but Tom himself, was the evil Norse god Loki.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Why are you doing this to me?" Tom asked the god who was straddling him, languidly thrusting inside his sore bottom which was slow to heal from the constant abuse it was being put through. "Do you really hate me this much?"

 

Loki paused at these quiet inquiries. "Don't ruin the moment for me, Priest!" he growled warningly. "I do what I want. That should be sufficient enough answer for you."

 

"I deserve to know," was Tom's flat answer. "And although I know you're the God of Lies, I deserve the truth."

 

The priest's weary, bloodshot eyes met the feral glower in the god's green orbs. With an exasperated sigh, Loki brusquely yanked his member out of Tom's bleeding ass, causing the mortal to wince.

 

The god lifted his finger and traced a high cheekbone. Tom willed himself not to flinch from that touch.

 

"What if I tell you that the first time I saw you standing on my sacred ground, surveying its worthiness for your little chapel, I became instantly attracted to you?"

 

"This is a most cruel way of showing your attraction. Tell me. Does it please you to see someone break in your hands?"

 

"And are you that, Father Tom? Broken?"

 

Tom could not speak at first. As a tear fell down his cheek, he replied bitterly, "What do you think? You've taken away my chastity. You force yourself upon me every opportunity you get. I cannot look at Father Eric, Dr. Branagh, the Bishop, or anyone without feeling a deep sense of shame. I don't even have the courage to step outside this room to visit the chapel."

 

"Or maybe it's not shame at all," Loki argued back. "Maybe you feel angry that your beloved God had done nothing to save you from my lustful clutches."

 

"I could never be angry with the Lord. As painful as it is for me, I am…struggling…to understand His reasons for…this…happening to me. But my shame is genuine, because I did not put too much of a struggle at all to save my virtue. I was weak, and I'm afraid that the Lord finds His servant a disappointment."

 

"Hmph! Even if you had struggled, you wouldn't have been able to fight back against me. You dull, naïve little creature! I may not be your God but I am still **_A_** god nonetheless." There was a wicked glint in those green eyes. "Or perhaps the reason why you didn't put up much of a fight to begin with is because you, in some way, are attracted to me."

 

"How can I be attracted to someone who had been sexually harassing me? Who had raped me? Don't mistake my fear and weakness for an attraction toward you, because I feel no such thing for you."

 

"Are you saying that you hate me? A priest like you? Capable of hatred?"

 

"I…don't…know! Please stop asking me these questions!"

 

"You're the one who started it, Priest."

 

Tom pulled his robe over his body and turned his head to the side, not wanting to gaze into the face of the grinning Norse god. "What must I do to make you stop? Do you want me to fall on my knees and beg? I'm but a lowly priest. I have nothing more to give you. You have taken so much from me already. If you are going to make any further demands, please don't ask for things which would be against my faith."

 

"But you are already ruined in the eyes of your God and your flock, Father Tom," Loki pointed out derisively. "As we speak, the villagers are huddled together in their smoky little pub, plotting on what best to do with Loki's whore." He emphasized those last two words strongly, eliciting a slight jerk from the priest on the bed. "You should resign yourself to your fate. You are bound to me now, Father Tom, just as I am bound to this mortal realm."

 

Tom's head slowly went up at that last. "You? Bound here on earth? I don't understand."

 

It was, at that moment, as he faced the God of Lies that he sensed…something. Tom could not comprehend what it was—a moment of understanding, of enlightenment. Whatever that feeling was, it brought with it a calming sort of peace and courage. That he should not be afraid of this god at all, because Loki was part of a greater purpose which, as yet, he could not fathom.

 

Loki must have seen the sudden transformation in his mien, his expressive emerald eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting together in confusion at the serenity on the priest's face.

 

Feeling disturbed, Loki pounced upon Tom, pushing him down on the bed, and tore his robe open once more. "Enough talk! I will have you… ** _NOW!_** "

 

The door of Tom's bedroom opened then. Standing at the doorway was Father Eric, his eyes round in shock at the sight of the specter straddling the priest.

 

Outraged by the thought that the god was forcing himself upon the younger priest again, Father Eric fumbled for his small bottle of Holy Water inside his pocket. Spraying the wraith with the blessed water, he yelled, **_"BEGONE, FOUL DEMON! I COMMAND YOU TO LEAVE GOD'S SERVANT IN PEACE!"_**

 

Shockingly, however, the Holy Water had no effect on the Norse deity. With an infuriated snarl, Loki leaped for the older priest and shoved him against the wall, hand crushing his throat slowly.

 

 ** _"FOOL!"_** Loki spat in his face. **_"YOUR SO-CALLED 'HOLY OBJECTS' HAVE NO EFFECT ON ME! I'M NOT A DEMON! I…AM…A GOD!"_**

 

 A trembling, feverish hand gripped Loki's arm. Whirling, the god stared into wide blue gray eyes.

 

"Please don't," Tom whispered, begging. "Father Eric only wanted to protect me. Don't take your anger out on him. Surely you have once had someone go to your defense, and you wouldn't want to see them get hurt."

 

 ** _"I HAVE NEVER HAD ANYONE DEFEND ME!"_** Loki released his hold on the older priest and seized Tom by his neck, lifting him high up against the wall. **_"Even when I was doing nothing wrong, even when I did what I thought was best for those whom I cared for, I was always ridiculed and punished!"_**

 

Although the god was slowly choking the life out of him, Tom was stunned and appalled by what Loki had unwittingly revealed. He reached out and tenderly caressed a proud cheekbone. "I…I never knew…I'm so sorry…that you had to suffer so much."

 

Loki let Tom fall, coughing, to the floor. "Don't make any presumptions about me, Priest!" the god hissed sharply. "I am not one of your pitiful flock!" With that, Loki disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

 

"Tom, are you alright? Dear God, I thought I heard noises inside your bedroom earlier. I never knew that…" Father Eric shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me that that demon was still molesting you?"

 

"As you have already seen for yourself, Holy Water had no effect on him. The fact that he raped me inside a church is proof enough that he is no demon, and therefore immune to our sacred objects," Tom replied with a sigh as the elder priest helped him back into bed. "He is indeed the Norse God of Chaos."

 

"But…there must be something we can do!"

 

"There is something that you can do for me, Father Eric. I would like to ask if you could please listen to my confession."

 

"Tom…son…what happened to you is not your fault. You have done nothing prurient which provoked this attack upon you."

 

Tom smiled and shook his head. "But we don't know that for certain. I am aware, though, that I have committed other sins. Please, Father. I need your absolution."

 

Seeing the adamancy in the younger priest, Father Eric said in surrender, "Let me get my stole in the next room. But Tom…I need to know… _why_?"

 

Tom simply shrugged. "As preparation. God delivered that poor, lost creature to me. Perhaps, if I am pure again, the Lord would enlighten me on what I need to do."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Rain poured heavily that afternoon as if the heavens were grieving for its wounded shepherd. Father Tom, however, was far from broken.

 

Unknown to Father Eric, Tom was seized by a strong, inexplicable urge to go to the chapel. There was a moment of hesitation, though, wherein he pondered whether he should put on his usual white cassock or the black one. In the end, something—or someone—whispered to him to wear the white one. Tom did not even bother to take an umbrella from the rack in the parlor. He grabbed his old coat and ran out into the rain, mud splashing on the lower part of his clothes. Entering the chapel, he was relieved to find it empty. Because the place of worship had yet to be re-consecrated, no one was allowed to go inside.

 

Tom felt the tears well up in his eyes at the still visible blood splatters on the walls. Those hateful words at the altar defied all attempts to cover them up with fresh paint, obviously Loki's doing. There were no traces of blood tears, though, on the faces of Christ and the saints, and he wondered if that vision was just a hallucination of his then terrified, panic-stricken mind.

 

"Lord, I hope you are still here, because I am so confused," Tom called out to his God whom he hoped still lingered inside this desecrated hall. He dropped down to his knees before the Crucified Christ, his fingers closing around the crucifix hanging over his breast in earnest prayer. "I know that there is a reason for everything that happens in my life. Please. Help me to discern your purpose for sending this…trial…upon your humble servant."

 

"Isn't it obvious to you yet, Priest?" a sneering voice declared from the pulpit. "Your God has abandoned you."

 

"God abandons no one," Tom told the wraith, whose flimsy green robe draped over his alluring, naked form as he leaned over the railing of the pulpit to look down mockingly at the priest, "even the lost and the damned who do not believe that they could still be saved."

 

"I don't need to be saved by your God, Father Tom. As I told you before, I do what I want." Loki flitted down to him, laying cold fingers over his cheek and jaw. Instinct almost made Tom raise the crucifix in the Norse god's face. Remembering that it would be useless, he let his fingers close around it in a fist.

 

"Maybe it is not from my Lord that you need salvation from. Perhaps…you need **_me_** to save **_you_**."

 

Loki jerked back as if stung. **_"PREPOSTEROUS! Why should I want salvation from a pathetic mortal like you?!"_**

 

"You told me that you were earthbound," Tom said insistently. "I can sense the darkness inside you hungering to be dispelled with even a flicker of light. Whatever it is that is keeping you in the dark, let me deliver you into the Light. Please permit me to save you in whatever way that I can."

 

The god's mocking, bitter laugh filled the chapel. "Rather than be concerned with me, you should worry more about saving yourself."

 

"What—"

 

The doors of the chapel banged open. Tom's blue gray eyes grew wide at the sight of the angry mob that filed into the center aisle, bearing sticks and clubs. Leading them was the mad figure of Mrs. Walters.

 

"That sodomite, that whore has brought a curse upon our village!" the woman ranted, further inciting the furious, grim-faced villagers. "After the desecration of our church, a two-headed goat was born in Andrew Cummings' farm! The chickens are laying eggs filled with blood or vile insects! Maggie Bingham's daughter has fallen to a mysterious malady which the doctor could not cure! Lest more evil befall us, we must rid ourselves of this blight!" She pointed a thin, crooked finger at a stunned Tom. "Take him outside! Stone him! Let his false priest's blood wash away the taint of corruption brought about by his copulation with the Horned One!"

 

A roar of agreement echoed among the men and women in the crowd, and they turned as one on the hapless priest.

 

Before Tom knew what was happening, both of his arms were seized and he was hustled outside the chapel. The mob dragged him through the churchyard and down the muddy street. The other villagers were standing on either side of the street, shouting curses and expletives at him. Some even went so far as to hurl rotten fruits and vegetables his way. It hurt Tom to see the crying faces of the children, watching from the windows of their homes.

 

At some point, Father Eric and Dr. Branagh came running out of a house. Seeing what the mob was doing to Tom, they rushed over to intervene, only to be grabbed by armed men and held back.

 

It was at the village square that the brutal procession stopped. Tom was forced down on his knees. By this time, his cassock, once lily white, was ruined, stained with mud, refuse, and excrement. He was struck in the back with a heavy club, causing him to fall to the ground. But he valiantly struggled to get up, even if he was being pummeled by blows. He straightened his back and his hands closed around his crucifix, as he began to pray the Lord's Prayer.

 

That act of worship and devotion was the final insult to the villagers. Circling the young priest like wolves, they began a steady chant of **_"STONE HIM! STONE HIM!"_** which drowned out the angry shouts of Dr. Branagh and the pleas of mercy from Father Eric.

 

Not too far from him, standing at the periphery of the mob, was Loki, bedecked in his full raiment as the God of Chaos, with that familiar, gleaming horned helmet on his head. But the perpetual sneer on his face was gone, replaced instead by shock and uncertainty. The Norse god wanted the priest to suffer, but he never expected this.

 

It was when his blue gray eyes locked with the god's startled green orbs that realization dawned upon Tom. Martyrdom was indeed his lot; his life for the salvation of this condemned creature. With that knowledge came a soul-deep peace, so that his fears over his impending death drained out of him completely.

 

Tom acknowledged the confused deity with a slight bow and a loving smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a jagged rock hurtling his way in slow motion.

 

"I forgive you, Loki," Tom whispered at the last. "With my life, I cleanse you of all your sins."

 

Tom never felt that rock connect with his temple. Instead, there was a fierce sting at his back which caught him by surprise. Before he could catch his breath, that blow was followed by another and another, each strike stronger and harder than the ones before. These were not blows from sticks and clubs; they were brutal lashings from whips which rent his dirty cassock into strips and his back into hideous, deep bloody lines. The heavy downpour upon the welts of his back was agonizing, but no pain-filled cries could be drawn from his lips.

 

Tom will not succumb to human frailty. For Loki's sake, he must endure.

 

Suddenly, his head was jerked up by harsh invisible fingers in his hair. His breathing came as ragged pants as the lashes fell hard and heavy upon his chest and belly. But the blows were inadequate distractions to the sharp points that gouged deep furrows into his brow and scalp, so that blood fell in rivulets down his face. So…this was what it felt like to be crowned with thorns.

 

From what seemed like a great distance, Tom could hear Loki screaming ** _. "NO, STOP! I never wanted this for him! What kind of God are you that you would inflict such terrible sufferings upon an innocent!? Stop this now, I say! I'm the one you should punish, NOT HIM!"_**

 

Tom's arms were raised by invisible hands, stretching them taut sideways. The priest cried out then as invisible nails were pounded into his wrists, creating gaping, bleeding holes. Tom fell face forward into the muddy earth, only to be flipped roughly onto his back. He screamed in agony as another, unseen spike was driven into his feet. As a cruel, final touch, a sharp invisible spear point was driven into his side.

 

**_"NO…MORE!"_ **

 

Dazed and in terrible pain, it never registered to Tom that Loki had materialized. In his panic to rush to the priest's side, the god never noticed that he was now visible to all. His helmet had fallen from his head and was now lying in a puddle.

 

Although it was no longer necessary to deal with the mob—stunned to immobility as they were from the shocking sight that unfolded before them—the Norse god sent them all flying back with a hastily erected green barrier.

 

As Loki cradled the semi-conscious priest in his arms, he wept, "I'm so sorry, Father! I swear to you, I never wanted this to happen!"

 

"It's okay, Loki. It's okay," were Tom's last words to the guilt-stricken god before he finally fell into the darkness of oblivion.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Tom woke up after what seemed like a long sleep, the first absurd thought that entered his mind was that he probably had not been that good a servant of God because the room he had been given in Heaven was as plain and as sparse of furniture as his old bedroom in Lockshire. It was also lacking in privacy, because the sole window had crying, snot-nosed cherubs watching him through the glass.

 

The priest only realized he was still alive when four-year old Maddie Timmons' head popped up from the bottom of his window, bumping painfully into the jaw of Charlie Irvine above her, and bawled at the top of her lungs, **_"FATHER TOM'S ALIVE!! WAAAAAH!!!"_** Her cries were soon joined by the wails of the other children, their racket prompting Father Eric and Dr. Branagh, with stethoscope in hand, to hurry inside his room.

 

As Father Eric helped him to sit up, placing two to three thick pillows behind his back, it was then that Tom saw that his upper body was covered in bandages. His forehead was similarly wrapped, as well as his hands and feet, the white linen blossoming with red stains from the puncture wounds.

 

The elder priest turned to the crying children outside. "Kids, why don't you run off and play now? As you can see, your prayers were answered and Father Tom is going to be alright."

 

The children, however, gave Father Eric a dubious look. It was little Benny Freeman who asked Tom, "Are you sure you're okay, Father? You still look awful!"

 

"We are so mad with our Mums and Dads for what they did to you," May Hammond, the oldest girl among them put in with such anger in her voice. "We told them that we will never forgive or speak to them again if they don't go to Father Eric and confess."

 

"Children, your parents were frightened of things that they don't understand, horrible things that involve me," Tom answered, his voice still alarmingly weak. "I don't hold any grudges against them. I forgive your mothers and fathers, so I hope that you will forgive them too."

 

"Are you sure, Father Tom? They almost…"

 

"It's already in the past. Now, go on and have fun. I thank you with all my heart for your prayers."

 

At this reassurance, the children hurried off, bidding him cheerful and relieved goodbyes and promises of "See you later."

 

"How are you feeling, Father?" Dr. Branagh asked when it was just the three of them. With his stethoscope, the physician listened to the priest's chest sounds—the strong beating of his heart and the clear respiration from his lungs.

 

"Very sore, but if you are referring to my wounds, they are…tolerable," Tom confessed. Father Eric visibly winced, so that the younger priest inquired, "What is it, Father?"

 

"I'm glad at least that you were not fully conscious during the past three days," Father Eric revealed. "You…you were writhing in agony, as new wounds appeared on your skin and old wounds…" He eyed the nail marks. "…were reopened. But you never uttered a sound, just tears falling from the corners of your closed eyes."

 

"I'm sorry for distressing you both."

 

"No, no! There is nothing for you to apologize for! It is I who should ask for your forgiveness, because I couldn't do anything for you." Father Eric broke into sobs. "If I could only take half of your sufferings to myself…"

 

"This sacrifice is mine to endure, and no one else's. I do this to save…him."

 

"Well, he does not deserve it!" the old priest declared in vehemence. "Why could he not have been a demon so that we could banish him back to Hell through an exorcism?"

 

"Because if Loki were a demon, he wouldn't have been able to withstand Holy Water, a crucifix, or other blessed items. This tells me that he is not a purely evil being, that he could still be redeemed."

 

"He may not be a demon, but in the Norse myths, Loki was evil personified," Dr. Branagh interjected. "After these wounds were inflicted upon you in the square, Loki appeared. He prevented us from getting near you, but everyone saw that he was doing something to you. His hands were glowing. We didn't know if he was hurting you or…"

 

The doctor suddenly found himself sailing across Tom's bed and hitting the opposite wall. Loki stood beside the cabinet, his body heaving from his hard, angry breaths.

 

 ** _"LIAR!"_** the god roared at the dazed physician. **_"I WAS TRYING TO HEAL HIM!"_** He stared helplessly at his hands. "But why? Why couldn't I heal his wounds?"

 

Tom's heart was tugged by the guilt and anguish on Loki's face. But before he could say anything, there were voices in the parlor. Loki vanished in a flash, just as the door to Tom's bedroom opened and a crying James Bingham entered, carrying his sister Katie. Following at James' heels were his parents; his father Richard was wringing his cap in his hands while his mother Maggie sobbed into a soggy handkerchief.

 

"Father Tom, Katie's dying from brain fever," James said tremulously, his voice rough with dread and anxiety. "My Mum and Dad didn't want me to bring her to you because of what they—and everyone—did to you. But I told them that you are not the man that crazy Mrs. Walters is claiming you to be. Father, please! Even if you could not forgive my parents…for me…I beg you to please heal my little sister!"

 

"But, son, Father Tom is…" Father Eric was about to argue.

 

"I've listened to your stories about the saints, Father. St. Francis…he possessed the same wounds as yours. Those are Christ's wounds. Please! St. Francis became a healer when the Lord gave him his wounds. I believe you can heal Katie." James knelt down at Tom's bedside, showing to everyone his poor sister who was as pale as death and barely breathing. "Father Tom, I love Katie. I know you can help her!"

 

Richard and Maggie Bingham too got down on their knees on either side of their son. "Father Tom, no words can express how truly sorry we are for what happened," Mr. Bingham wept in remorse. "I will not ask that you forgive us, but please save our little girl."

 

Tom was at a total loss on what to do. While he had prayed over the sick many times, he knew that he was no healer. The nail marks on his hands…even he was uncertain if they were the work of the Almighty. He was no saint like Francis of Assisi. What if Katie died at his hands?

 

"Believe, Father Tom."

 

The priest's head jerked up at that uncharacteristic gentle voice to find Loki—unseen to everyone but himself—standing at the foot of his bed.

 

"Those wounds were given to you by someone more powerful than me," Loki told him with absolute certainty. "His Divine Power flows through you. If you believe in your God as you say you do, open your heart to Him. Then, lay your hand on the child and heal her."

 

"But Loki, I—"

 

"Close your eyes, Father Tom. Feel Him inside you, feel His Holy Power coursing through your veins. Reach for that wellspring with both hands, like a man thirsting for water. But that draught is not for you; give it to that little girl. Do it now, Priest, before Death takes her away from you!"

 

Tom turned in urgency to James. "Lay her here on my bed beside me." He winced slightly as he scooted over to the side, with the help of Father Eric and Dr. Branagh, to give the sick girl room on his bed.

 

Obeying the Norse god's instructions, he closed his eyes, silently praying to the Lord to reveal Himself to him. Revelation did not come like a flash of lightning. Instead, he was suffused by a shroud of calm and quiet confidence. Then there it was…that stream of gold and blue Divine energies. Tom did not have to dip his hands into that stream; it literally flowed into the cup of his palms.

 

When his hands were filled to overflowing, he pressed them over the little girl's heart, so that the healing energies poured into her chest.

 

"Katie, child," Tom told her gently. "Don't be afraid. Trust in God. Let His love wash over you and heal you. Your parents and your dear brother James are here waiting for you. Please don't disappoint them."

 

Because Tom's eyes were closed, he never saw what was happening to the girl beneath his hands—how the pallor gradually but most surely left her face, so that her cheeks reverted back to their healthy pink glow. He never noticed how a shocked Dr. Branagh hastened to lay his hand over her forehead to find her raging fever gone.

 

"Father Tom?" It was that weak query that drew Tom out of his intense concentration, and no words could describe his immense relief when he saw Katie's round blue eyes gazing up at him. There was even a sweet smile on her lips as if she were enjoying a joke which only she knew.

 

"God bless you, child," Tom whispered, brushing away a stray lock over her forehead and kissing the top of her head.

 

As Katie was taken into the arms of her happy and very grateful older brother and parents, the young priest turned once more in the direction of the end of his bed. The Norse god, however, had already disappeared.

 

 _And God bless you too, Loki_ , Tom sent out that mental message to the deity whom he knew was just nearby but invisible. _Thank you for being my guide._

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The weeks that followed found Father Tom being caught up in a wave of religious fervor bordering on hysteria.

 

It began with the villagers of Lockshire flocking en masse to the confessional of the newly re-consecrated chapel for absolution. Because Tom was in no condition yet to hear confession, especially those from the people who had tried to kill him, Father Eric performed the duty with almost devilish glee, giving each man and woman the harshest penances that he could think of.

 

Then, news of the healing of Katie Bingham spread like wildfire to the nearest towns, so that sick people started coming to Lockshire in the hopes of similar miracles happening to them.  When the first five rickety buses arrived, Tom was literally stunned by the sheer number of people that began to line up in the churchyard; some were even wheeled on wheelchairs or carried on stretchers. Although he was deathly terrified that he would fail these hapless souls, Loki, surprisingly, was a soothing, unseen presence at his side, instructing him on how to 'see' the source of the illness, how best to approach the healing, and whether or not he would actually succeed.

 

"While it is good to raise their spirits by letting them hope for a cure, in the event that the disease is terminal, it is better to tell them the truth and let them prepare for the inevitable," Loki whispered to him while he was laying hands on a patient with lung cancer. "I am sure that your God will not want you to lie."

 

It was very difficult advice, especially for someone like Tom who wanted to heal every single patient who lined up to be cured in their little churchyard. In the end, though, he followed Loki's words, and to his relief, the handful whom he could not cure and their kin proved to be understanding. These terminally ill patients he would send off with a prayer and a special blessing.

 

On a more disturbing note, Bishop Tyrsson had taken it upon himself to prove that Tom was either a charlatan or that whatever healing powers he possesses were given to him by a demon. Because of the absurdity of the bishop's claims, Father Eric, with documentary evidence provided by Dr. Branagh, sent a letter to the Vatican requesting for a formal inquiry.

 

"Given that the bishop is determined to see you ruined, it is very important that, at this early stage, we should already fight his fraudulent claims. It's obvious that the man is extremely jealous of you," Father Eric told Tom heatedly when the younger priest had pulled him aside to ask him not to go through with sending his letter to Rome. "If the Vatican is able to prove without a doubt that your stigmata are not self-inflicted and that you are indeed performing miracles through the Will of God, I would very much want to see you attain sainthood."

 

Tom didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that last. Rubbing his suddenly aching head, Tom groaned out, "But, Father Eric, I don't have any ambitions of becoming a saint. All I want is to help people."

 

His stigmata and his healing gift, however, had a disturbing effect upon his health and well-being. For some reason, Tom could not feel hunger, especially whenever he was healing the sick. He would go for hours without food and just sips of water to drink. In the little time that he has for himself, he could not eat the food that Father Eric prepared for him. The only food that he could consume was the Holy Eucharist, and the blessed wine and wafers were not sufficient for his needs. Further aggravating the priest's health were his wounds. Just like other stigmatics before him, Tom would experience excruciating pain from his wounds, every Thursday and ending between the hours of 3 and 4 in the afternoon of Friday, this time frame purportedly representing the hours that Christ suffered. As the weeks turned into months, Tom lost considerable weight and he became so weak that he was often confined days on end in bed, with Father Eric begging him to eat.

 

The one who was troubled the most by Tom's deterioration was Loki. When Father Eric and Dr. Branagh were not around, the god would show up with assorted breads and fruit in tow, demanding with all the imperiousness of his station for Tom to eat or else he will shove every bit of food down his throat.

 

"Oh, Loki, I'm sorry but I really don't feel hungry at all," Tom would say to the insistent deity glowering at him over a basket heaped with fruits. "Besides, I know for a fact that you don't have a shilling to your name, so I'm pretty sure that all the food that you've been bringing me was stolen. I appreciate the thought, Loki, truly. But I will not have you steal things for me from the poor folk of this town."

 

"Would you rather that I just stand here and watch you starve to death?" Loki rebutted. "Your healing gift is draining you physically. If you will not eat, I'll…I'll…"

 

"Loki, please spare me from your threats because you cannot force me to eat if I don't feel hungry." A bright idea sparked inside Tom's mind. "But I may be swayed into doing so if you give me food which you did not steal."

 

As soon as those words left his lips, Loki vanished in a puff of green smoke. This was followed by an outraged cry from Father Eric and the clatter of falling plates originating from the kitchen. Before Tom could even blink, Loki reappeared inside his room with a tray filled with a bowl of chicken soup, two buttered bread buns, and a tall glass of milk. He plunked the tray down on Tom's lap.

 

"There," the god said curtly. "I didn't steal that. So eat!"

 

Father Eric barged into the room then, his expression harried and his gray hair spiking in several directions from the fright that the god put him through. Pointing an irate finger at the smug deity, he growled, " ** _YOU!_** You swiped that tray right from under my nose! What if I had dropped it? The soup could've scalded me."

 

"I did no such thing!" Loki exclaimed in heated defense. "You were taking forever inside the kitchen. Even if the soup had dripped on you, you would never have been burned because your skin is so thick and wrinkled from old age. Since you were taking your bloody time, I decided to take your damned tray and serve it to Father Tom." A flash of doubt. "This food **_IS_** for Father Tom, right?"

 

"Yes, but—"

 

"That settles it then!" Loki turned back to Tom with one anticipatory eyebrow raised.

 

Sighing in surrender, Tom gingerly picked up the spoon, dipped it into the soup, and took a dainty sip. Father Eric's mouth gaped open at the astounding sight of Tom eating again.

 

"Thank you for the wonderful soup, Father Eric," Tom said with a sincere smile. "And thank you, Loki, for bringing it to me. You are very kind."

 

Loki's face turned beet red at that compliment. "Right, right! Now, just finish that, will you?" And he disappeared once more before either priest could tease him on why he looked so discomfited.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

A full year passed, with Loki an ever constant presence at Tom's side. While it was inappropriate to describe the pesky god as such, Tom could not help but think of him as his guardian angel (His own celestial guardian forgive him for such a thought!)

 

Loki served meals after Father Eric had cooked them. He would also scold Tom whenever he overtaxed himself during healing sessions. When Tom was well enough to say the occasional Mass, the god would sit in a chair between the sacristans, the boys having grown accustomed to the priest's invisible guardian after one of them made the mistake of sitting on said seat, essentially Loki's lap, and had his behind pricked by the sharp point of a knife.

 

During his personal time, Tom would read books and ancient documents about the god which Dr. Branagh had borrowed from the library in the nearby town. While he was familiar with the Norse myths, the local legends and stories gave him greater insight on Loki.

 

It was after two busy days of healing patients who came all the way from London that Tom found himself bedridden again due to exhaustion. Loki had parked himself in a chair beside the priest's bed. Lying on his side, Tom could not help smiling as the god scolded him yet again on the proper way to manipulate the healing energies.

 

"I can see that you are a healer with great experience, Loki," Tom remarked thoughtfully.

 

"Hmph! It's a talent that's wasted among the Asgardians though," Loki replied. "I was always ridiculed for being a magic user. I only hear the rare 'thank you' from my brother whenever I heal that lumbering, blundering oaf after fierce battles."

 

Tom, at last, saw his chance to inquire about the one matter that has piqued his curiosity. "I can see that you love your brother very much."

 

Loki's head lifted at once. Judging from the startlement on the god's face, it was clear that Loki was aware that he had made a mistake in revealing that little fact about himself. However, seeing the open curiosity in Tom's bright blue eyes, he knew it was too late to change the subject.

 

"Thor and I were not brothers by blood," Loki began in explanation. "My parents were Frost Giants. Because I was born a runt, I was abandoned to die in the temple. Odin Allfather, King of Asgard, found me and adopted me. As they say though, your true parentage will always show in the end, and I've caused a lot of trouble in the Nine Realms."

 

"Yes, I've been reading about your…exploits," Tom confirmed. "Please forgive me for saying so, but all the things that you've done, they are very strange ways for you to try to get your father's love and attention. That is your true intent, isn't it?"

 

"I live in a different world, Father Tom, wherein the morals and ethics are not the same as yours. I tried to show everyone that, as a mage, I have my uses in battle. But I was always found lacking. Only Thor understood me. Or so I thought. In the end, just like Father, he was quick to condemn me to unspeakable punishments." Loki's voice lowered to a trembling whisper as he confessed, "And to think I gave him everything."

 

"Loki…did Thor do to you what you did to me?"

 

The god froze at that query. "No, it wasn't like that between us at first. What transpired between Thor and me was reciprocal. But…" Then, ever so slowly, he nodded in answer to Tom's question. "It was after I brought about the death of Thor's true younger brother, Balder. To escape from the fury of the Asgardians, I hid in a cave behind Franangrsfors. It was Thor who found me. He wanted to know why I did it, a moot question because he already knew the answer even long before—that I was jealous of Balder, and it was this same brother who never failed to bring me down with his mocking words. I confessed to Thor that it was he whom I have always loved. And he chose to destroy that love by debasing me and, later, imprisoning me."

 

Loki's face was filled with regret as he looked straight into Tom's eyes. "The first time I saw you standing on my sacred ground, overseeing the construction of your little chapel, you reminded me so much of Thor—proud, determined, somewhat self-righteous, but still very kind and generous to others. I admit that I became attracted to you. But, as Thor was with his lover Sif, your heart was utterly devoted to your God. Knowing what Thor did to me, I sought to make you see that the God you have committed your life to shall abandon you in the end if I make you mine. Instead, for your sacrifice, for your forgiveness of the heinous crime that I have done to you, your God has given you a most wondrous, yet terrifying gift, a gift that has ensured that you will never, ever belong to me."

 

As the god was speaking, Tom's vision blurred a bit, and he thought that it was because of the tears that were filling his eyes at Loki's painful confession. He gingerly lifted his hand— _Why does my arm feel so heavy all of a sudden?_ —and laid it on top of the god's.

 

"Loki, I could never belong to you. I am not a thing to be owned," Tom said weakly. "But there is…something…between you and me. A bond, perhaps? I really do not know. I believe, though, that God brought you to me for a reason. While I have yet to completely trust you, after what you had done to me, I can honestly say, that in my heart, I have forgiven you and that I want to help you. I don't know how yet, but I swear to you, I will and…"

 

Suddenly, agonizing pain shot through Tom's entire being, originating from the spear wound on his side. His eyes rolled upward so that only the whites can be seen and his body was wracked with violent convulsions. It barely registered to him that Loki had stood up from his seat, the chair toppling noisily to the floor, and was carefully holding him down as he thrashed on the bed. Neither did he notice the abrupt entry of Father Eric and Dr. Branagh.

 

When at last his seizures subsided, Tom heard Loki telling the two men in anguish, "Is your God truly this cruel to His servants? Father Tom will die if this continues! I'm going to get something that might help him. While I'm gone, please watch over him for me."

 

Words were exchanged between the god and the older priest that Tom could not understand. Then, he felt a gentle, soothing kiss on his brow.

 

"I'll return soon, Father Tom," Loki whispered. "If I am a successful, this would be the last that you shall hear of me. Let this be my expiation for my grievous sin toward you."

 

"Loki, no." But those two words never came out of Tom's lips. The priest could only weep helplessly as the determined god vanished before his eyes.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Illness caused by exhaustion led to Tom drifting in and out of consciousness during the next two days. Every time he woke up lucid, he would always ask Father Eric or Dr. Branagh about Loki. To his dismay, the two men had no word for him regarding the condition or whereabouts of the god.

 

On the morning of the third day, Tom opened his eyes, only to have his heart sink with dread at the sight that greeted him on his bedside table.

 

"Father Eric?" the priest called out as he struggled to get up. **_"FATHER ERIC!"_**

 

Hearing his frantic call, Father Eric almost stumbled through the doorway in his haste to attend to his younger colleague. But upon beholding the worry on Tom's face after seeing what was on his table, the older priest already knew what had gotten him in a state of fear and panic.

 

"Loki left those for you last night," Father Eric explained. "He told me that I should give them to you for you to eat the minute you woke up. He said you would know what they are."

 

"Golden apples from the goddess Idunn's orchard," Tom said, nodding, not taking his eyes off those two apple slices with their gleaming gold peel.

 

Father Eric mistook Tom's hesitation for something else and he quickly said, "Loki insisted that he did not steal them."

 

"No, he did not steal them. But he gave something else in exchange for those two precious slices." Tom's face hardened as he gazed up into the old priest's eyes. "Father Eric, look for Mrs. Walters. Please bring her to me. It's very important."

 

"But Tom, surely this could wait. You've been very ill and…"

 

 ** _"NO! I CANNOT WAIT, NOT WITH LOKI'S LIFE AT STAKE!"_** Tom took several deep breaths to calm himself. "Please, Father! I'm begging you!"

 

The urgency in Tom's face prompted Father Eric to act, despite his reluctance to aid the god that had nearly broken the younger priest. "I'll be right back," he said in determination as he hurried out the door.

 

To Tom's relief, he did not have long to wait. After only half an hour, Father Eric arrived, practically dragging the shrieking old woman inside Tom's bedroom.

 

"Damn you, woman! Calm yourself!" Father Eric exclaimed. "Father Tom does not mean you any harm, even if you had almost gotten him killed!"

 

Mrs. Walters stilled at these words, but her rheumy eyes glared suspiciously at the younger priest sitting on the bed.

 

"I will not mince words with you, Mrs. Walters," Tom began sternly. "You are a Daughter of Sigyn, are you not?"

 

The old woman jerked back at his words. She was about to run away but Father Eric blocked her immediately.

 

"While your group of women has long been considered a cult in these parts, you are, in truth, descendants of the goddess Sigyn. As such, it is your duty to tend to the God of Mischief during his incarceration here on Earth until the time of Ragnarok comes."

 

Mrs. Walters' entire body slumped. Twiddling her fingers nervously, she replied, "Yes, that was our appointed task. We Daughters would take turns holding the bowl over the Horned One's head lest the serpent's venom drip on his face."

 

"And it was an arduous, painful task, I know. I read the stories of what Sigyn had to go through. But it was you who freed him. How you accomplished this task, I do not know. But I do need to know why."

 

 ** _"Because I am the only Daughter left!"_** Mrs. Walters cried in despair. "You have not seen his sufferings! It tore at my heart to hear him screaming in pain and shouting in rage every time the venom fell on his face, how it burned his skin, his eyes!" She burst into sobs. "My two children were boys. Both passed away in the war before they could marry. Then, you came and built that chapel, turned everyone away from the Old Ways. I could not find anyone to take my place if I should die! I couldn't bear the thought of leaving that poor god to suffer helplessly, evil though he was, without even a brief respite."

 

"But he wasn't evil, am I right, Mrs. Walters," Tom said sadly. "You've known Loki for most of your life. You know for a fact that he isn't truly evil."

 

"No, he wasn't. Whenever any of us Daughters were in some sort of trouble, he would always give us wise advice. He would teach us about herbs and how best to heal certain illnesses." A small smile curled up the corners of her lips. "There were times, when he saw how tired I was, that he would ask me to set the bowl down. At first, I refused. But when I eventually succumbed to weariness, he just lay on that rocky slab as still as Death, not uttering a sound, even if the venom was burning away his flesh."

 

Tom reached out and took Mrs. Walters' hands, patting them gently. "You have done well for him, Madam. Your duty is now at an end. I want you tell me the location of the cave where Loki is imprisoned."

 

"But…but why?"

 

"Why, I will finish what you started, Mrs. Walters. I know now what mission God had set for me. I shall go and permanently free the God of Mischief from his eternal torment."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

That very midnight, Tom was walking along the coast, heading for the crags. Fearing for his safety, Father Eric decided to accompany the younger priest, helping Tom as he limped over the rocks using a stout staff. At first, they could not see anything even with the bright oil lanterns that they carried because of the foam of the battering sea waves. It was only perhaps through Divine Intervention that Tom found the cave, its mouth covered by moss and seaweed flung over it by the waves. Carefully, they made their way through the rocky ledge, their cassocks getting drenched by sea water. Upon reaching the cave's opening, the two priests could make out a light inside.

 

"Stay here, Father Eric," Tom told the older priest. "This is something I must do alone."

 

Father Eric shook his head. "No. I shall be with you until the very end."

 

"Thank you," Tom said in gratitude, comforted at least that Father Eric would be with him during this final trial.

 

The priests marched into the cave, walking past huge stalagmites and ducking beneath sharp stalactites. At certain points, the tunnel narrowed into tight constricting points. But Tom would not be deterred.

 

Squeezing himself through one such tight spot, Tom found himself inside a cavern large enough to accommodate ten men. In its center was the slab that Mrs. Walters had told him about. Sure enough, Loki lay completely naked and tightly bound to that slab with the entrails of his children. To Tom's horror, the god's face was burned by the venom that dripped from the fangs of the serpent coiled around the stalactite above his head. And yet, Loki would not cry out. Instead, he lay there, resigned to take the punishment that was due him.

 

Tom limped over to Loki's side and picked up the bowl, catching the drops of acidic venom. "It's alright, Loki. I'm here."

 

"Father…Tom?" Loki asked in disbelief through scorched eyes. "Why? You're not supposed to be here!"

 

"Hush now! I promise you.  I will put an end to your sufferings."

 

"No, Father!" the god sobbed. "You can't! These are the terms that I have agreed to when I bargained for slices of the golden apple. Please! Don't incite the ire of the Asgardians! Don't let my sacrifice go for naught!"

 

"Do not be afraid for me, Loki. Just let me do what needs to be done." Tom straightened up defiantly. "I know you are here, God of Thunder. I can feel your presence as a crackle of electricity in the air. Show yourself to me now. I will have words with you."

 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, from out of nowhere, forks of lightning crisscrossed before them, blinding the two priests briefly. When the lightning disappeared, standing in their place was the armored form of Thor.

 

"I am here, little priest." The formidable god's voice was like the rumble of thunder. "If you are going to plead for Loki, I'm afraid that the Allfather has passed his judgment. The price for two slices of golden apple is two millennia of imprisonment. Loki agreed to these terms."

 

"True, but since I am the recipient of the apple slices, I should have a say in this, don't you think?" Tom asked shrewdly.

 

"You have nothing to offer in exchange, mortal," Thor stated bluntly. "Even if you were to attempt to free him, it would be useless. I will strike you down before you can pull at his restraints."

 

"Why are you doing this, Thor? I know you love your brother. You know for a fact that he is not truly evil. Why don't you just be honest with us all and tell us the truth—that it is not really the Allfather who wants Loki bound, but you."

 

Those accusing words caused a disturbing silence to fall in the cave. Father Eric could only stare, stunned by the frankness in Tom's statement. The snake was equally shocked, so that it shut its mouth and the trickle of venom stopped.

 

"You do not know what you are saying, Priest!" Thor hissed.

 

"Oh, but I do know! You love your brother. You want to keep him with you at any cost. Yet, your heart is a feeble thing. Because Loki is a Frost Giant, you cannot go against your Father's wishes, even if you do love him. You have dallied in fleeting romances to alleviate your lust, unmindful of the envy and jealousy that you have aroused in your brother's heart. If you had only fought for your love for him, he would never have done those cruel things to get your attention and approval. It was you who pushed him to become evil. Now that Loki lies helpless and bound here on Earth, he has become nothing more than your property. A poor thing that you have selfishly hoarded inside this cave until that time when you can truly claim him for your own. Specifically, that time when you assume the throne of Asgard…something which you already know deep inside will never happen."

 

"Brother…" Loki asked feebly. "Is…is this true? If you love me, how could you do this to me? How could you let me suffer like this?"

 

"Loki," Thor began in anguish, "Father had, in truth, ordered your execution for Balder's death…by my hand. But when I found you in Franangrsfors, I could not do it. But at the same time, I could not let you go unpunished for our brother's murder."

 

"And that is why you kept him here inside this cave for thousands of years, shielded from Odin's eyes," Tom concluded for the Thunder God. "It was only to your misfortune that a Daughter of Sigyn could no longer take what was being done to him and released him."

 

"Why are you so interested in my brother, Priest?" Thor demanded. "I know what Loki did to you. Why are you very concerned for his well being after he had so brutally defiled you?"

 

"Yes, Loki had raped me, which would have made it the more correct course for me to hate him, to want to demand to my Lord that He avenge His servant's defilement. But that is not God's way; that is not **_MY_** way. Although I could never forget what he had done to me, I have forgiven him, because I understand what had driven him to act against his true nature. I have seen the kind of man he is, and my conscience cannot abide that he suffer because of the selfish whims of his own brother. I will bring Loki back with me, whether you want to or not."

 

Thor seized the great hammer hanging at his hip, hefting it threateningly. "Let me see you try, Priest! Don't forget that I am the God of Thunder! Even though it is forbidden to us to smite mere mortals down, I will not hesitate to kill you!"

 

A confident smile curled up the corners of Tom's lips. "But my God surpasses the might of the deities of Asgard. Now…behold true power!"

 

A beam of gold light literally crashed through the ceiling, basking the young priest in its warm glow. As Father Eric looked on, raven black wings emerged from Tom's back—an all too evident sign that the priest was the Almighty's fallen but still beloved angel—tearing through his cassock. With a single beat of those mighty wings, he created a powerful gust of wind which sent Thor crashing into the far wall.

 

Tom bent down then over Loki, his tears falling upon the god's ravaged face. "Do you trust in God, Loki?"

 

"I do not know your God, Father Tom. But I do trust in you," Loki replied with a sob. "Because I love you. I love you so much it breaks my heart."

 

Tom caressed Loki's cheek. "I love you too, Loki. Heaven help me but I do love you. Now, put all your faith in me and my Lord. Let us free you from this torment."

 

When their lips touched, Tom used his Divine gift to dissolve the entrails binding the god. Such was the sheer power of the energies within him that they also caused the serpent to disintegrate into nothingness.

 

Thor was horrified. **_"NO! STOP! YOU MUST NOT!"_**

 

"Let go of him, Thor," Tom said gently, taking the wounded god into his arms. "Loki is God's child now. He does not belong to you anymore."

 

As he said this, Tom began pumping his wings in a strong, steady rhythm. The gold light around them expanded, gradually filling the entire room. There was a final frustrated roar from the Thunder God before the light completely consumed them. When the light finally dissipated, Tom, Father Eric, and Loki were back inside the younger priest's bedroom.

 

Tom gently laid the god in his bed. "Father Eric, if you'll excuse us please?"

 

"Tom, I—" the old priest stammered hesitantly.

 

"I've already made my decision, Father Eric," Tom said decidedly. A meaningful smile lit up his handsome face. "I could only pray that you will understand."

 

"Oh, but I do understand," Father Eric answered in reassurance. "I can see that you have finally discerned God's purpose for you, and I will not stop you. Do what needs to be done for this poor being…Tom."

 

Tom nodded simply, and he looked on as the older priest left his bedroom, locking the door behind him. At last alone, he turned toward the god on his bed. There was an expression of nervous anticipation on Loki's face. At that thoughtful regard, Tom felt his resolve flounder.

 

"Uhm…I believe you already know what we need to do," Tom began haltingly. "I…I'm not experienced as you. But, we don't have enough time. I…I don't want to hurt you."

 

Loki snapped his fingers, and Tom's cassock and bandages vanished, leaving him completely naked, his wounds stark red on his pale skin. "I can take anything that you can give me, Father Tom. After what I've done to you, it would be the appropriate retribution if you would be…rough…with me."

 

"And I told you that I don't want to hurt you, Loki. I'm not the vindictive type."

 

"Yes, I know…which is why it just breaks my heart that you would be willing to…love me. A sinner of the worst sort."

 

Tom sat down on the bed, cupping Loki's scarred cheek. "Perhaps my willingness to love you is because I too am a sinner. I had been so vain, so overconfident that I could change the world and the people around me. I never realized that it would take a lot of painful sacrifices. There is also the matter that…" He paused, a shy smile curling up his lips. "…I am very selfish. Yes, you may have hurt me, but you strove to atone for what you have done with small acts of kindness, which I could not get enough of. Now that I have you, Loki, how could I even think of letting you slip through my fingers? I…I want to hold you in my arms and smother you with kisses and take away all the pain that has ever been inflicted upon you."

 

"Then, do it. I am yours. I belong to you."

 

"No, Loki," Tom whispered as he carefully laid his length over the god's body, just as thunder rumbled in protest outside. "We belong to each other."

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 

There was a desperate urgency to their first lovemaking. Although Tom struggled to maintain his composure in order to not cause the god any further injuries, Loki urged him to unleash his long pent up passions. Tender explorations were abandoned for heated kisses, hasty fumbling, and the grinding of hard bodies. Many times, the god would reach down to stroke the priest's burgeoning erection, but Tom would take his groping hand and pin it at his side. It was not yet the right time. He needed those few more precious minutes to build up the Divine energies that were inside him.

 

Unknown to the two men, a battle of an entirely different sort was happening outside. Father Eric stood before the cottage, staring awe-struck at the sky and at the armor-clad Norse gods fighting the winged hordes of Heaven. Although he commanded the power of thunder and lightning, Thor was being held back by a fierce angel with his blazing sword, the blade turning away every lightning strike with just a flick of the wrist. Still, the Asgardians were not daunted by their opponents. The God of Thunder, especially, was determined to stop what was taking place inside the cottage.

 

Tom, however, was just as determined not to lose the god he had grown to love.

 

Biting down on his lower lip, he thrust hard into Loki, the head of his member striking the god's sensitive spot instantly so that Loki lurched up with his hips to get more of that length inside him. Placing his hand on the swell of Tom's buttocks, Loki pressed down, prompting him to move faster and harder. And Tom obliged this requesting gesture, pounding in and out of the god's body so that fevered cries were torn from his lips.

 

Then, as Loki spilled between their grinding bellies, Tom just simply let go, the dam he was holding bursting as it reached its breaking point. He sent all of the Divine energies that were inside him flowing into the god, healing his terrible wounds, and much, much more.

 

The God of Thunder sensed what was happening inside the cottage and he blasted the wall with a lightning bolt. But there was nothing he could do anymore.

 

With raging helplessness, Thor watched as Tom drew back to behold Loki's face whole and completely healed. In his relief, he pulled the weeping god into his arms. Seeing the slices sitting on his table, he grabbed them and threw them at the Thunder God, who caught them in his beefy arms.

 

"What have you done, Priest?" Thor demanded. **_"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"_**

 

"By your God in Heaven," Loki breathed out, just as perplexed, feeling the unfamiliar changes inside his body, "what did you do to me, Father Tom?"

 

Tom gazed triumphantly at the angry god before him as he clung covetously to Loki. "You can do nothing to him anymore. By your own laws, you can no longer touch him…for I have made Loki human."

 

 

 

_"So, you have finally finished it. Please don't tell me that you had worked on it overnight."_

_"After what I had seen, what I had witnessed, I just had to get the last images down." Father Eric gazed at his creation proudly. "I must say though that I did an exceptional job. Truly incredible likenesses."_

_"Loki would probably have something to say in argument to that last. Maybe you should curl those horns backward a bit more."_

_"If I did that, it would look like the tips were piercing the back of his head."_

_The two men shared a moment's laugh._

_"I…I left my letter of resignation on your desk. I would very much appreciate it if you could forward it for me directly to the Vatican. Unlike Bishop Tyrsson, I'm sure the Cardinal will understand."_

_"I strongly advise that you think this through. There are repercussions when you resign from the priesthood."_

_"You mean that I may be criticized and even ridiculed for violating my priestly Vows in order to consort with a former god, and a man at that." A soft sigh. "I know; I am already expecting that to happen. It is for this reason that I have decided to leave this place for good with Loki. Go somewhere far, far away where no one would know us or judge us. It will be very difficult. But God delivered Loki into my hands. I have already freed him from the bonds of the false godhood of the Asgardians; it is my responsibility to ensure the continued redemption of his soul."  Tom showed the elder priest the still present stigmata on his wrists. "What better way to do this than by having Loki as my companion and guide as we travel all over the world to heal other lost or ailing souls? This is the task the Lord has given to me—no, to **us** —and I shall see it fulfilled."_

_Father Eric pulled the former priest into a tight hug. "I shall always keep you in my prayers, Tom. You and Loki. May God always watch over you and protect you."_

_"And may God always shower his blessings upon you, Father Eric. You have been a wonderful, supportive friend to me. I will miss you."_

_"Promise me you'll write. No matter where you are, I want to know how you're doing."_

_"I promise, Father."_

_Outside the cottage, Loki called out, "Tom, I have our things packed. We must leave now before the villagers wake up." The former Norse god ran through the open door of the work shed, only to grimace distastefully at his image on the finished cross. "Is that supposed to be me? It doesn't look anything like me. It's more like a horned ferret!"_

_"How dare you…" Father Eric snorted as he tried to regain his dignity. "You should be grateful that you're even in this cross. If you weren't a part of this story, I would never have put you in here, you troublemaker."_

_"Ouch! That stung!" Loki declared, not the least bit contrite. "But I will promise to be a good boy from now on…well, maybe after we leave this place." He pulled out a familiar, battered leather wallet. "I'll make sure to confess this little matter of some stolen money."_

_"LOKI!" Tom cried in outrage._

_"You're in luck, you pest!" Father Eric declared smugly, having already grown accustomed to the former god's antics over the year. "I was going to give that to Tom before you leave. Knowing what a handful you're bound to be, I thought I'd provide Tom with enough funds to manage your needs until you get settled."_

_"Father Eric, I can't accept this!" Tom argued._

_"Maybe you can't accept it, but **HE** already took it. I'll delay sending your letter to the Vatican for a day or two since our allowance will be arriving any day now. I'll wire you the money immediately as soon as you give me a forwarding address."_

_"Yes, I promise I'll do that. Again, thank you very much for everything."_

_"It's the least I can do. Now, go on, you two. Have a good, happy life."_

_Tom took Loki's hand. "I'm pretty sure we will."_

_Father Eric watched as the two men set off on their long journey. He was well aware of the challenges that lay ahead of them, but he was confident that they would survive and endure. They had God watching over them after all._

_Turning his attention back to his cross, Father Eric was surprised to find it gone. Rushing outside, he saw it standing in front of the chapel in the churchyard. Carved on its face was the image of the Norse god Loki, his binding in a cave with a serpent dripping venom on his head while a Daughter of Sigyn sought to alleviate his suffering with a small bowl and by ultimately freeing him from his eternal torture. Images of how the god had tormented a young priest, only to find salvation and redemption in the end from this fallen servant of the Lord. The last image, placed at the very center where the crossbeams of the cross meet, showed the priest hand in hand with the former god, leading him into the Light of God._

_Father Eric was stunned. He thought the Norse God had become mortal, so how…_

_"The last bit of magic that I possessed, Father Eric, I used for this one final service to you," Loki answered inside his mind. "My way of showing gratitude for your kindness and devotion toward Tom. I promise you that I will protect him in your stead."_

_Father Eric smiled as the god's mind voice faded away with the last traces of his magic. The parish priest sighed as he watched the silhouette of the two men disappear into the sunrise. That brave young priest and his troublesome god were now a part of Lockshire's history, and they were sure to leave their loving mark in the places that would be blessed by their visits. But this little village along the Northern English coast would always hold a special place in their hearts, for this was where their journey began. And Father Eric was so damned proud to be a witness to it all._


End file.
